


The tail of Napoleon

by grantairrible



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Friends With Benefits, Nonbinary Grantaire, Oblivious Enjolras, Other, Trans Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 19:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14600391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairrible/pseuds/grantairrible
Summary: In Enjolras’ lap, the cat - Napoleon, why did he have to have such an awful name? - purrs as Grantaire pats him. Enjolras has never been jealous of a cat before.(In which Enjolras discovers his attraction to Grantaire, and is oblivious to pretty much everything else.)





	The tail of Napoleon

**Author's Note:**

> I realise it's been over a year since I posted something, but it's been over a year since I actually finished something. I've been pretty busy with uni and life in general, but I managed to get this finished so I figured I might as well put it up here.  
> Thank you so much if you've left a comment on one of my previous fics and I haven't replied, it all got away from me a bit and the volume got a bit too overwhelming but I promise I appreciate it <3  
> Anyway, I don't know when I'll be back with another fic but I have some things in the works so hopefully it won't be as long next time!!  
> (also if you're wondering where on earth this fic came from I saw a cat called Napoleon on a rescue animal website and thought about how it would annoy Enjolras and then... this happened?)

Enjolras has never actually been to Grantaire’s apartment before. This is perhaps unsurprising; out of all of Les Amis - with the exception of Marius, who only seems to turn up whenever his girlfriend is busy - he’s the least friendly with them. The two of them talk sometimes, but not as much as Enjolras likes; Grantaire is always quieter around him, never seeming comfortable, and Enjolras always suddenly forgets how every part of his body works, hyper-aware of every movement and word. It’s disconcerting, so they tend to avoid each other, which is always disappointing. There's a unique spark to Grantaire, but the churning stomach, the pounding heart, taints their interactions, and Enjolras overthinks every word afterward. And yet, somehow, he finds himself often circling back to them. It's weird.

Everyone else, however, seem to be familiar with the small, cosy space. They all make themselves at home straight away, while Enjolras stands by awkwardly, eventually flopping down on the floor in front of a mess of knees. Grantaire’s sitting next to him, and offers a small smile, their fingers tapping their thigh.

“I shotgun the good blanket!” Courfeyrac calls, pulling a black fluffy blanket off the arm of the couch, covering Enjolras’ face. Something hits his lap.

“Napoleon was on that,” Enjolras hears Grantaire comment dryly. The blanket is lifted from his head, Grantaire reaching a hand out as if they’re going to pat down Enjolras’ no doubt wild curls, but thinks better of it, and instead moves their hand down to Enjolras’ lap, where a large black cat is perched. That explains the weight. And the sudden rumbling sensation against Enjolras’ thighs. Enjolras hadn’t really noticed that part; Grantaire is weirdly distracting, as usual.

“ _Napoleon?_ ” Enjolras asks. He can’t help an eyebrow from arching in disapproval. He also can’t help but notice that Grantaire’s face is very close to his. He’s also _also_ very much aware of where Grantaire’s hand is right now. And that he doesn’t mind either of these things, which actually comes as a bit of a surprise.

“Napoleon,” Grantaire confirms. They grin and moves away. Enjolras blinks.

Someone clears their throat.

“Shall we watch the movie?” Combeferre asks. He sounds amused. Enjolras is going to strangle his best friend with his bare hands.

Under the blanket, Courfeyrac stretches his legs out across Combeferre’s lap, bumping Grantaire’s head. They shift closer to Enjolras, arms brushing. Enjolras is going to have to buy cookies for his other best friend. Grantaire smiles a little, and Enjolras’ stomach does that weird thing it always does around Grantaire.

In Enjolras’ lap, the cat - _Napoleon_ , why did he have to have such an awful name? - purrs as Grantaire pats him. Enjolras has never been jealous of a cat before.

 

* * *

 

_Unknown number:_ hey I know this might sound weird but I’m having a flat inspection and I know your parents own your apartment so I was wondering if you would please be able to take care of Napoleon for me on Saturday?

 

_Unknown number:_ you wouldn’t have to do anything, just set up a litter box and some water and I promise you won’t even notice he’s there, he’ll probs just sleep all the time

 

_Unknown number:_ this is R btw sorry I probs should have started with that

 

_ Enjolras: _ that’s totally fine! :)

 

_ Grantaire: _ thank you so much!!! you’re a saint <3

 

Enjolras stares at that heart for a long time, heart beating in his chest hard enough to feel it.

(Grantaire does the same. It had been an accident.)

 

* * *

 

Grantaire arrives with a cat carrier and a large bag of goods that are apparently all related to cat care in some way. Enjolras is suddenly worried about his ability to keep another being alive for an entire day.

“I’m so sorry,” Grantaire says, as soon as the door is closed behind them. Napoleon lets out a howl. “I swear I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t necessary, but no one else can have pets at their place and I can’t afford to get kicked out of another apartment, and I love this dumb cat too much to-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupts. “It’s fine. I like doing things for my friends.”

Grantaire freezes. “Oh.”

Enjolras takes the carrier from them. “Can I let him out?”

“Go ahead.”

Napoleon sprints out and starts exploring Enjolras’ apartment, nose twitching. It doesn’t take him long to climb on top of Enjolras’ desk, scattering papers.

“I’m so sorry, I can-” Grantaire starts toward the desk, but freezes again when Enjolras touches their arm.

“It’s fine,” Enjolras repeats. “He’s a cat. They’re just papers. I can organise them again easily enough.”

Grantaire lets out a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry, I’m just…”

“Stressed?”

“You can tell?” Grantaire laughs, but there’s not much weight behind it. “I should get back, my landlord didn’t let me know what time he’s coming so I have to be there the whole day. I’ll come and get Napoleon once he’s gone.”

“No worries, I’ll just be here with my new friend.” Enjolras reaches down to scratch Napoleon behind the ears. He straightens up and shows Grantaire to the door. It feels like the polite thing to do, even though it’s only a couple of metres away. Around them, he has to think about every action and whether or not it’s normal. “I’ll take good care of him, don’t worry.”

 

* * *

 

Napoleon, as it turns out, loves Enjolras. Enjolras can barely sit down for twenty seconds without finding himself with a lapful of purring black fluff, and on the rare occasion that he manages to sit on the couch without Napoleon sitting on him, the cat sits on top of the cushions and chews on Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras takes a video of this and texts it to Grantaire.

 

_ Grantaire: _ he’s never done that before omg I’m so sorry

 

_ Enjolras: _ it’s fine!! I really don’t mind :)

 

_ Enjolras: _ I might have to steal him from you actually

 

_ Grantaire: _ he might prefer that :’( my own son loves you more than me

 

Enjolras turns to take a photo of Napoleon, who just happens to be gazing wistfully at his food bowl. He crops the bowl out and sends it to Grantaire. They don’t need to know he wants food and not his owner.

 

_ Enjolras: _ don’t worry, he misses you too!

 

Grantaire sends through a series of heart-eye emojis. Enjolras laughs, and reaches up to scratch Napoleon under the chin. He purrs loudly; in spite of the terrible name, he really is a beautiful cat. Enjolras wouldn’t mind spending more time around him. It would also give him an excuse to see Napoleon’s owner more often; since the party at their apartment, Enjolras has started noticing Grantaire more and more. Among their their heavy sarcasm and scepticism, Enjolras has been surprised to find likes what he sees. Grantaire is complex, that much Enjolras can tell. He looks forward to becoming more familiar with them.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire falls to their knees as soon as they’re inside Enjolras’ apartment, and Napoleon comes running into their arms. “Hello, baby boy,” they coo.

“Someone’s glad to see you. You’d think I’d tortured the poor thing, with the way he’s acting.”

“He’s just a cuddly boy.” Grantaire scoops Napoleon up and scratches his chin. “I’m sure you treated him like an emperor, as he deserves.”

“Hilarious,” Enjolras says dryly, but he can’t quite hold back the smallest smile. Grantaire glances up, eyes bright, and catches the tail end of it.

Grantaire stands, cat clutched to their chest. “Seriously, thank you so much. It really means a lot.”

“It’s no problem.” Enjolras moves to scratch behind Napoleon’s ear. “We had a lovely time. Let me know if you need a catsitter again.”

“Sure thing,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras realises just how close they’re standing. “This guy’s going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss him too.”

“You’ll have to come and see him, then.”

Enjolras steps the tiniest bit closer, ostensibly to pat Napoleon better. “I guess I will.”

 

* * *

 

_ Enjolras: _ there is cat hair all over my apartment >:(

 

_ Grantaire: _ Napoleon says you’re welcome

 

_ Enjolras: _ tell him he’s beautiful and I love him

 

_ Enjolras: _ and I will see him as soon as I can!

 

_ Grantaire: _ I know you’re only friends with me for my cat :’( it’s fine :’(

 

_Enjolras (draft):_ you’re beautiful too

 

_ Enjolras : _ yeah you got me haha

 

Enjolras throws his phone down on the bed next to him and stares up at the ceiling. He’s never been attracted to someone so blatantly before, and it’s throwing him off balance. He’s so completely fucked.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras puts the video of Napoleon eating his hair on his instagram. It quickly becomes his most-liked post.

“People love cats,” Courfeyrac explains. “A cat doing cute things to a cute boy is social media gold.”

Enjolras throws a pillow at him.

“For real though,” Courfeyrac says, after a short but aggressive pillow fight, which left Combeferre sitting to the side, shaking his head. “Since when do you and Grantaire even talk?”

Enjolras melts across Courfeyrac’s lap, spilling over to Combeferre’s. “Since movie night. I need help.”

Courfeyrac gasps. “Our son wants advice? Combeferre, darling, I’m so thrilled.”

“I hate you so much,” Enjolras mutters. Combeferre strokes his hair absentmindedly. “What do I do?”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchange a look. “Just talk to them,” Combeferre says. “Ask them out, if you want to.”

Enjolras groans. “No, that’s too hard.”

“You are hopeless,” Courfeyrac says. “But you don’t have to ask them out if you’re not ready. Maybe just frame it as catching up, and see where it goes from there?”

“I don’t even know if I actually want to date them,” Enjolras whines. Feelings are weird and hard, why are Courfeyrac and Combeferre being so mean? All he wanted was to wallow in self-pity, and here they are being all supportive and helpful. Ugh. “They just have a stupid attractive face.”

 

* * *

 

Enjolras sends Grantaire a snapchat of his desk, piled high with his uni work and his work for Les Amis. _Send help_ , he types.

He gets a reply almost instantly: _I’M COMING OVER TO SAVE YOU FROM YOURSELF_.

_Can you bring Napoleon?_ Enjolras sends, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He needs some kind of buffer in case things get awkward.

_Dude I’ll do anything to get you to take a fucking break._

Anything. Enjolras tries not to take that too seriously, and fails miserably. Feelings are inconvenient as all hell. Where did this even come from? He notices Grantaire’s pretty eyes one time - and despite some people thinking otherwise, they are stunning, a shade of hazel that shifts from gold to green in different lights, which is unfairly distracting - and now he can’t get them out of his head? Enjolras has always certainly thought about Grantaire more than he should, wondering how to approach them and how to get his tongue to stop tying itself in knots around them, but this is on a whole other level.

But Enjolras doesn’t have time to mull over his feelings about suddenly being attracted to Grantaire; they’re on their way, and Enjolras, not expecting company, has allowed his apartment to become far too messy. He’d usually shove everything into his bedroom and close the door, but he’s kindling a hope that he won’t allow to form completely in the back of his head, so he shoves dirty laundry into the basket where it should have been all along, and changes his sheets. But he’s not hoping for anything. His sheets had needed changing, and it was a good time as any to do that.

 

* * *

 

“Fucking hell,” Grantaire says, when they see the pile of books and papers in person. “Someone needs to save you from yourself.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and picks up Napoleon. “Just because you’re allergic to the concept of work.”

“Some of us have twenty thousand hobbies to occupy their time, Mr. _My-Parents-Pay-My-Rent_.” Grantaire sticks their chin in the air, a prim caricature.

Enjolras laughs. “Who needs a sugar daddy when you have a wealthy, emotionally distant father who substitutes money for genuine emotional connection? I suppose distance is better than being disowned or whatever for being trans, but...”

“Boy do I know parts of that feeling, and we could totally get into how not having it as bad as some people have it doesn’t invalidate your grief if you want, but dude. You’re getting a bit too real.” Grantaire steps closer to scratch Napoleon’s chin, and glances up at Enjolras. Their eyes are a little scrunched up as they smile, and Enjolras’ heart beats so loud he wonders if Grantaire can hear it too. “We’re meant to be having fun, remember?”

“You know me, I think fun is overrated,” Enjolras drawls.

“Your Draco Malfoy impression is impeccable. Actually, that gives me an idea.”

Enjolras can see where this is going. “We are not having a _Harry Potter_ marathon.”

“You really are no fun.”

“We can have one when the semester is over and I can devote twenty consecutive hours to watching movies.” Enjolras finds himself actually looking forward to the idea.

Grantaire nods. “That sounds reasonable. What should we do now, though?”

“Play _Mario Kart_ and try not to murder each other?” Napoleon is getting heavy, so Enjolras puts him down, where he proceeds to headbutt Enjolras’ shins.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Grantaire says cheerfully, and takes a seat on the couch. “Napoleon, darling, will you avenge me if I’m killed over a video game?”

Napoleon blinks at Grantaire before turning away to clean his nether region. Enjolras realises that cats aren’t perhaps as elegant as he thought they were.

 

* * *

 

“Did you just fall off again?”

Enjolras waits for his character to be placed back on the road. “Maybe.”

“You’re exceptionally terrible at this.” Grantaire laughs. “Why on earth did you suggest it? My self esteem isn’t quite bad enough to need this as a boost.”

“Is...”

“Chill.” Grantaire pauses the game. “It was a joke, I’m… fine enough.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras reaches out a hand, then lets it fall to his side. He’s not sure what he was trying to do with the gesture. He’s not sure what he was going to say. Grantaire is close, their sides almost touching. This close, Enjolras can see the flecks of colour in Grantaire’s irises, bright green and gold and brown. At a distance, it blurs into a muddy hazel, but this close it’s a masterpiece, each colour its own bright world.

“Yes?”

“I- oh.” Enjolras swallows. “I lost my train of thought.” Lost in Grantaire’s eyes. What a cliche. They smile, and their teeth are crooked, and Enjolras wants to kiss them.

“I think we were skirting around the disaster that is me,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “You’re not a disaster.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever done that.”

Grantaire nudges Enjolras with their shoulder, and through the fabric of their clothing Enjolras thinks he can feel the warmth of their skin. “That’s because you’re too fun to argue with.”

“Oh, is that why?” Enjolras asks. The dryness of his tone reflects that of his mouth. He can barely think.

Grantaire shrugs. Still touching, the movement jostles Enjolras. “A little. It’s complicated.”

Grantaire is complicated, Enjolras thinks. Enjolras would like to peel back the protective layers of reflexive sarcasm and scepticism. He thinks he would like Grantaire in their vulnerable state. _Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire._ That’s all he can think.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Grantaire asks, after a long moment of silence. “Have I broken you by making you take a break?”

Enjolras gently shoves Grantaire with his shoulder. “I do know how to take care of myself, you know.”

“I know, but having other people take care of you as well never hurts.”

Enjolras meets Grantaire’s eyes. He wants to kiss them.

_Shit_.

He moves back, breaking the contact and the moment. “I’m starving, do you want some lunch?”

Something dims in Grantaire’s brilliant eyes. Enjolras’ stomach sinks. He’s fucked up.

“Sure.” Grantaire is far from enthusiastic.

 

* * *

 

They eat, Napoleon trying to climb up and steal Enjolras’ food, and the tension dissipates a little every time a black, fluffy paw reaches up towards the table.

“Do you want to watch a movie after this?” Enjolras asks tentatively. He doesn’t want Grantaire to leave.

Grantaire nods while their mouth is full. “Sure. What’s the dumbest one you own?”

 

They end up sitting on Enjolras’ bed instead of the couch somehow, Napoleon curled between them, Enjolras’ laptop in front, watching _Jupiter Ascending_. Enjolras takes in barely any of the nonsensical plot, too focused on the person next to him. Grantaire looks up every now and then, when there’s a particularly ridiculous line, and when their eyes meet Enjolras’ heart stutters. He’s not used to not knowing what to do or say.

“Can I kiss you?” The question slips out of Enjolras’ mouth as Mila Kunis states that she loves dogs, has always loved dogs. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that.

Grantaire looks up, mouth hanging open the tiniest bit. “I- yeah.” They sound unsure, and clear their throat. “Definitely.”

Enjolras leans across to kiss Grantaire. The angle is awkward, and as they shift to compensate, they disturb Napoleon, who hisses at them and scrambles off the bed. They move closer, and the kiss deepens.

Grantaire kisses well, somehow moving into it with their whole body, their lips soft against Enjolras’. He doesn’t quite know how to keep up with their level of expertise, but they don’t seem to mind, humming as Enjolras gasps against their mouth. Grantaire’s body presses against him, and Enjolras lets it push him down amongst the pillows, until he’s somehow almost horizontal, his legs wrapping around Grantaire of their own accord.

Grantaire pulls back after a time - Enjolras can’t tell how long, lost in the feeling of Grantaire - breathing heavily, pupils blown wide. Their hair is a mess from Enjolras’ hands, which wandered into it unconsciously. “Is this okay?”

Enjolras nods, not trusting his voice to work. Grantaire descends upon him again, and their lips move down his neck. He’s done this before, with a few people, but it’s never been like this; his body has never thrummed with such anticipation, has never been so responsive to the barest brush of lips. He hadn't predicted that this would happen, and certainly not so fast, but he definitely doesn't want them to stop.

He’s never wanted someone as much as he wants Grantaire. It’s terrifying. He sits up, and Grantaire freezes.

“Sorry, did I-”

Enjolras cuts them off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… Can we...” He bites his lip and tugs at Grantaire’s shirt, hoping gestures will work where words fail him. Grantaire understands, and they scramble back to whip it off. Their stomach looks soft, belying their strength, and paler than the rest of them, with a trail of hair that Enjolras wants to follow down. Before Enjolras can lose himself in staring, he pulls his own shirt off. Grantaire stares back, but his gaze doesn’t linger on the scars on Enjolras’ chest, roaming down further and then back up to Enjolras’ face.

When Grantaire kisses Enjolras again, their bare skin is pressed against his, and it’s even better than before. When their hand brushes his hip, with a murmured _can I?_ , Enjolras nods, and helps Grantaire strip off his jeans.

Grantaire’s hand slipping under Enjolras’ underwear to move against him is nice, but Grantaire moving down the bed to position themself between Enjolras’ now fully bare thighs is even better.

Grantaire’s mouth on Enjolras is gentle but firm, everything so hot and slick that Enjolras thinks he might die. He drifts, lost in pleasure; it could only take seconds, or it could take hours, when he finally comes. The climax is subtle but sublime, a slow but inevitable tipping over rather than a sudden fall, the tail end of a sheet of fabric catching up as it hits the ground.

“Fucking hell,” Enjolras says, when he can breathe again. “I think I’ve melted into the mattress.”

Grantaire stifles a laugh against Enjolras’ thigh. They bite their lip - swollen and red, _damn it_ , how are they so attractive? - when they look up at him. “Good?”

“That’s an understatement.” Enjolras releases a slow breath, staring up at the ceiling. Grantaire’s face is too distracting to look at right now. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so relaxed.”

Grantaire moves to join Enjolras at the top of the bed. “Good,” they say, almost as satisfied as Enjolras by the conclusion to the act. “It definitely wasn’t what I had planned when I suggested you take some time off to relax, but it’s quite possibly the most effective method.”

“Yeah, except now that my bones have liquified I don’t think I can move enough to reciprocate.”

Grantaire kisses Enjolras. “You’ll just have to owe me one. I don’t particularly mind. Like, orgasms are good, but you should see your face right now.”

“Orgasms are _very good_ ,” Enjolras corrects them. “Particularly when achieved via your mouth.” He sighs out another long breath, and blinks at the ceiling some more. So that’s where all of Grantaire’s passions have been hiding.

 

* * *

 

After a while, Grantaire gets off the bed and puts their shirt back on. Enjolras watches them with lidded eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“I have to feed Napoleon, and stuff.” Grantaire shrugs. “I’ll see you soon. We should do this again.”

Then Grantaire is gone, after scooping their cat into his carrier, and Enjolras is left staring at the ceiling again, but out of confusion this time.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Enjolras is getting a headache from staring at his computer. He needs a break, and he knows exactly how he wants to spend his time. His heart pounds as he types out the message.

 

_ Enjolras: _ I’m about to take break, and I believe I owe you something, if you wanted to come around and collect it?

 

His hands shake as he waits for it to send, and for a response, which is practically instantaneous: _on my way_.

 

Enjolras understands Grantaire’s satisfaction at his glowing orgasm last time, as they spill into his hand with a drawn-out groan of his name. It’s almost as good as when Grantaire gets him off again. Almost.

Grantaire leaves soon after, and Enjolras’ satisfaction fades as the front door closes behind them.

 

It happens again and again over the coming weeks, stolen moments among their busy schedules, and Enjolras loves it, loves how productive and relaxed he is with this new source of stress relief, but his stomach always sinks when Grantaire leaves. He shoves away the weird feeling of whatever it is, and gets back to work.

 

* * *

 

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac says, lifting something up with the tip of a pen, “what is this?”

It’s a pair of underwear. Grantaire’s, to be specific. They’d been unable to find them again after Enjolras had flung them away in a particularly passionate moment, and grimaced as they tucked themself into their jeans commando. “I was wondering where those got to.”

“Why did you have someone else’s underwear on top of your shelves?”

Enjolras turns back to his computer and starts typing again. He has a paper due soon that he should be working on. “Why do you think?”

Combeferre takes that moment to bustle in with the bags of their take away he’d gone to pick up. He stare at the underwear. “Do I want to know?”

Enjolras doesn’t lift his eyes from his computer, but he’s stopped typing. “I may have been kind of sleeping with Grantaire the past few weeks?”

“You what?” Courfeyrac drops the pen. “Honey, that’s a terrible idea. For both of you.”

Enjolras gives up on his paper and turns around. “Why for both of us?”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac share a look. “I wouldn’t tell you this if you weren’t in the same boat,” Combeferre says, “but Grantaire has been in love with you for years now.”

“In the same boat?” Enjolras’ head is spinning. _Grantaire. In love with him_. “I’m not in love with Grantaire. I just- find them very attractive. It doesn’t happen often for me, but it happens.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac share another look. “Enjolras,” Courfeyrac says, “have you been happy with just sleeping with them?”

“No, but I just- that’s just.” Enjolras looks at Courfeyrac. “But my feelings haven’t changed. I still feel the same about them, I just want to... do things with them.”

“Have you ever thought,” Combeferre says, with infinite gentleness, “that these feelings you’ve had for a long time are not strictly platonic, and they just have an added dimension to them?”

Enjolras feels as though someone has punched him. In an emotional sense. “Oh, shit.” He stumbles out of his chair. “How the fuck did I not realise?”

Courfeyrac laughs, but it’s not malicious. “You’re the most hopelessly oblivious pair of people I’ve ever seen. You’re perfect for each other.”

“I- _shit_ ” Enjolras shoves his feet into the nearest pair of his shoes. “I’ve wasted so much time. I need to go and tell them.”

“Finally you realise. About the telling them thing, not the wasting time. This really isn’t an emergency, but okay. I guess we won’t be having the food I just picked up.” Combeferre hasn’t even put his keys away, and bounces them in his hand. “I’ll drive you, come on. If you try to get anywhere by yourself like this you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Enjolras stares down at his outfit of pyjamas and Doc Martens. “I should probably get changed first, right?”

“I mean, you can make a love confession in what you’re wearing if you want, but I would recommend a different outfit, yes.” Courfeyrac gets up and places a hand on Enjolras’ arm. “I’ll help you choose something.”

 

* * *

 

Enjolras knocks on Grantaire’s door frantically. This is a terrible idea, but he has to tell them before he freaks out too much and second-guesses himself.

Grantaire opens the door. They’re in pyjamas, and it’s adorable, and Enjolras can’t believe he didn’t realise he was in love with them sooner. “Enjolras, is everything alright?”

“Yes, I-” Enjolras takes a deep breath to steady himself, but doesn’t quite manage the confession he was planning. “Did you name your cat Napoleon to spite me?”

Grantaire blinks at him. “No? Marius found him and I took him in, but by then he wouldn’t answer to any other name. Not everything I do is centred around you, and I wouldn’t give a cat a certain name just to piss you off. That’s a bit far, even for me.”

Enjolras deflates. “I know. That wasn’t what I meant to say.”

“Do you want to come in?” Grantaire frowns. “You look… stressed.”

Enjolras thinks of their typical method of dealing with stress, and swallows. “Please.”

Grantaire sits Enjolras down on the couch, Napoleon jumping onto his lap, and makes them both tea. “Now,” they say, when they’re settled next to him, “what did you actually come here to say that’s freaked you out so much?”

“Combeferre said you’re in love with me.”

“Oh.” Grantaire looks down at his mug. “Is that what this is about? We can stop our arrangement, if it bothers you. It probably does. I just didn’t want to make it weird, but I thought you knew, and I didn’t quite want to stop.”

“It bothers me because that must have hurt you,” Enjolras says. He reaches across to put a hand on Grantaire’s knee, and they look up at him. Their face is blank, but Enjolras is getting better at reading them, and their eyes are terrified. “I hate that I was the one hurting you. I didn’t know, and It hurt me too. I was stupid to not realise why.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says slowly, “I don’t understand.”

“I’m in love with you, and I have been for ages now, and I didn’t know until Combeferre and Courfeyrac literally sat with me and told me. I was oblivious to your feelings, but I was oblivious to mine, too.”

“What the fuck.”

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire stares at Enjolras. “You’re in love with me?” They blink a few times. “Are you sure?”

Enjolras nods. “I’ve been a real idiot.”

Grantaire sets their tea aside and puts their face in their hands. “I need a minute.”

Enjolras nudges Napoleon off, and gets up. “I can go, if-”

“No, don’t.” Grantaire’s hand snags Enjolras’ wrist, while the other still props up their face. “I’m fucking overjoyed, I just need a second to come to terms with it.”

Enjolras stands there, unsure, with his wrist in Grantaire’s hand, while they stare at the floor. Eventually they sit up, and shift the grip from Enjolras’ wrist to his hand.

“I didn’t ever actually think you’d reciprocate, so this is fucking surreal,” Grantaire says. They pull Enjolras closer, and he collapses into their lap. They’re grinning as they pull him in for a kiss. “You. In love with me.”

“It was as much of a surprise to me as it is to you,” Enjolras says. “But I was also surprised to find out you were in love with me, so.” He shrugs.

“I really did think you already knew. Everyone else did. I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“Look,” Enjolras says. He pauses. “I don’t have a good explanation, actually.”

“I can’t believe I’m in love with you, you dork.” Grantaire’s smile is wider than it’s ever been. It’s beautiful - _they’re_ beautiful - and Enjolras can’t believe he was this oblivious, when Grantaire makes him feel like this, with his heart so full. Only, _like this_ is such a rare feeling, one he’s only ever felt around Grantaire, so perhaps it’s not so strange it took so long to figure out. He’s glad an annoying cat made him get closer to them so he could realise his attraction and eventually make his friends point out his hopelessly obvious feelings. Enjolras can’t believe he was quite this thickheaded.

Pressed against Grantaire, Enjolras’ stomach rumbles loudly. He drops his forehead onto Grantaire’s shoulder. “Sorry for ruining the moment. I’m terrible at this.”

“Lucky for you, I’m good at this bit.” Grantaire gets to their feet and tows Enjolras toward the kitchen. “Let me woo you with my cooking skills.”

Enjolras has a lot to learn from Grantaire in the ways of romance; he’s had little interest in the past, and no inclination to pay much attention. Taking in Grantaire’s wide smile, their gentle affection, Enjolras thinks he will gladly try to be a good pupil, for their sake. It would be worth it, to give them the same fluttery feeling that warms Enjolras’ chest.

* * *

 

Napoleon is sitting on Enjolras’ head when he wakes up in Grantaire’s bed the next morning. Enjolras can’t quite bring himself to be annoyed at the cat for anything but its name, and that’s Marius’ fault. Enjolras is going to have to have a word with him.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm willowveild on tumblr and would love it if you came by to say hello :)
> 
> (fun fact: every time I worked on this fic I'd get the IT IS NAPOLEON bit of Letters in Great Comet stuck in my head)


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